


Proof of Presence, Proof of Death

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Coping, Gun Kink, Handcuffs, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: His head hits the padded headboard and for the first time he understands Tim's quiet request when they refurnished this apartment. It's usuallyhimhere, tied up and begging.Jason doesn't beg.





	Proof of Presence, Proof of Death

**Author's Note:**

> For my writing challenge #30 Gun Kink.  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Inner Demons" by Julia Brennan

It's never been like this, not between the two of them, and not between anyone else the two of them have ever been with. _No_ , Jason thinks, this is unique to this instant, this little spec of time in the fullness of the universe. 

He can't see: the silky feel of Bruce's stolen sleep mask pressing over his eyes. He can't move: the cold bite of metal he so dearly craved digging into his wrists. His thighs are parted and lashed to the mattress with Velcro restraints. His hips could lift if he really wants to give into the urge, but he finds he'd rather pretend he's forced into place there as well.

A shudder works its way through his body, a slow sensual slide from the base of his spine all the way up to his shoulders. He shakes with it, lets it be the culmination of the pureness of his want. His cock strains between his thighs, lifting from his balls the more and more aroused he becomes. His head hits the padded headboard and for the first time he understands Tim's quiet request when they refurnished this apartment. It's usually _Tim_ here, tied up and begging. 

Jason doesn't beg. 

He's wanted to be here since the first time he carefully lashed Tim to the bed. It's been a struggle not to admit to the desperate pull in his belly every time he's laid Tim down here and spent hours edging his hysteria away. If he's being honest, he always avoided asking because he thought for sure it wasn't what Tim needed and Jason's always been about helping Tim in the pits of his darkness.

Today, Jason's darkness has caught up, has eclipsed the usual sun of Tim in his life, and he couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips this time. 

" _I need this_." The whispering hint of words he barely got past his lips still linger on the air between them.

Tim's hands had been so caring, so delicate as he laid Jason out and followed his every breathless request.

The lightest touch leaves him gasping as his mind is jerked back to present, as his hips roll of their own accord. His cock strains again and he bites down on his tongue to quell the whimper that builds in his throat. Another feather-light brush of something against the sensitive skin on the insides of his thighs and he jolts. He can feel the slow spill of precum down his shaft, the way the sticky droplets slide down his hardness. His head lifts and then smacks back against the padding of the headboard, a quiet groan swelling up past his lips. Heat engulfs his length and Jason can't stop the obnoxiously loud cry of pleasure that leaves him. His hips arch up hard, his muscles flexing under the onslaught of pleasure cascading through his body. 

Tim's tongue slides over his slit, probes at it until Jason's gasping, and then he slides off with a little _pop_ that Jason hates to find himself thinking of as cute.

He's gone for a minute, his presence completely missing from the room and Jason feels lonely. Is this how Tim feels when Jason leaves the room? Is this what he's been doing to him all this time?

He can _feel_ him when he returns. He can't hear a thing, Tim's work-quiet steps hedging over into their bedroom. His cock swells and he finds himself stunned at the realization that this isn't all that unusual of a reaction to Tim's presence. Another shudder slides through him and he licks his lips, finds his mouth drier than he thought. His breath hitches and then there's the heavy cold weight of something familiar on his thigh.

A shocked sort of sound wedges itself out of his mouth and he can't stop the frantic jerk of his hips. He _knows_ this sensation, knows it from his own indulgences, from his own darkness when there had been no Tim to comfort him. The images come fast, an onslaught of what should be horror but only feels like pleasure with so much distance between him and the reality of them.

_Joker's crazy eyes, tinged with desperation and madness that knows no yield. His stupid fake pistol in Jason's face, his hands wrenched behind him by some cracked out goon. The click of a trigger and Jason's jolt of surprise as he saw how fake the pistol looked up close and personal for the first time in his life._

_From there, the urge to learn everything he could about guns, to take and hold the power of any situation in the depths of his mind forever going forward._

_The feeling of his first pair of guns in his palms, the hours spent on the range, the careful breakdown, cleaning, and build of the set. There's the first build of heat in his gut and the lingering sensation of fear over what's happening to him._

_Roman with his hand in Jason's hair, the barrel of his gun grazing over his slashed open cheek. Jason's own gun, the feeling familiar and the weight telling him all he needs to know. It's loaded and he's in Hell._

_The hours he spent afterward, alone and cradling his gun, thoughts of if he should get rid of them or if he should own this, too, just like he did with Joker. He decides to take possession of the cruelty inflicted there, harnesses it and when he starts sleeping with the gun under his pillow, he understands that this is just the next step._

_When he finds his hand on the grip and the other fisting his cock quickly in his hand, he realizes this is how he accepts his vulnerability, how he allows himself to open up again after so long. The first time he cums and finds the gun in his hand, the barrel under his own chin, his finger nowhere near the trigger, he realizes this is also trust. Trust in himself, trust that he won't _fall back_ into the pit inside him, that Hell won't reach up and grab him again because he has control._

_When the night comes that he wakes up from a fresh dream of his own gun barrel in his mouth, of his cock aching between his thighs, he accepts it with little thought. He tries it once, discounts the taste as nowhere near as much fun as the thought of it and instead lays it on his hip as he strokes his cock. He spends hours cleaning it afterward, as if he's trying to wear away the desire to do what he has._

Reality floods back to him at the methodical sound of bullets being ejected from the cartridge. _Click. Click. Click._ A sharp metallic sound rings through the room and Jason knows all the rounds are gone. His gun is empty.

His senses kick into overdrive as Tim cocks the gun, the solid sound of the hammer and then the dull thud of a test fire causing his stomach to roll into knots and his cock is harder than it's ever been.

 _Tim's firing his gun_. Holy fuck.

Jason's breath hitches and he rolls his shoulders back and strains from the headboard, a wordless plea on the air for what he wants. He's in hyperdrive and Tim's stuck in neutral. He understands it's on purpose but his body can't wait any longer. He's waited years for this.

The head of his cock presses to cool metal and Jason's cry fills the room. He's only vaguely surprised he doesn't shoot right then, but somehow he clings to his orgasm, keeps it at bay so this will last longer. Tim drags the gun down the side of his cock and his lips press to the other side; Jason's mind spirals away. His body is the only thing that exists. 

There's a slow drag of Tim's tongue on one side and quickly warming metal on the other. There's the huff of breath, proof of presence, and then there's the empty void at his other side, the proof of death. It's an angry juxtaposition and he feels the familiar tug inside him. The part that has never quite come back from the grave at war with the pieces that have. His mind fractures and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

Grave dirt and the acrid taste of death on his tongue. The salt of the water of the pit, the sensation of it filling his lungs, the awareness of drowning and coming back to life, the confusion of the sensation and the terror of nothing.

His eyes water behind the mask and he refuses to hold it back. The part of him that's still here with Tim understands the purpose of this. The other part screams into the darkness, curses at the void that can never quite be filled. His fingers pick through his remains, hunt out the blackness and dig fist-deep into it, curling and squeezing until there's bitter black blood dripping from his fists and his gut feels hot with it. 

Desire follows the slow glide of his gun barrel down over his hip and then along his thigh. Another ratchet of the hammer and then the thud of the trigger slamming everything home. His cock strains and his body jerks as if the shot were real. His balls are tight and his skin feels like it's going to vibrate right off of him he's shaking so hard. His orgasm is _right there_ , clinging to the base of his spine, and even when his rasping breath begs Tim for it, he doesn’t quite know what _it_ is. 

Warmth surrounds his cock and Tim's mouth feels like a raging inferno in seconds. The cool barrel presses under his chin and when the hammer cocks back Jason knows what freedom is. 

His breath comes in short, desperate measures and his balls feel like they've buried themselves up inside his body. His cock is sensitive like he's already cum, but the heaviness inside him tells him he hasn't that this isn't over quite yet.

Tim's tongue finds the slit again and Jason ratchets up another notch, opens his eyes to the blackness behind the mask and he feels the hysteria break, feels sanity set in. He feels repaired, like this is all it ever had to be to glue him back together again. He's solidified, as whole as he ever gets in that moment.

The trigger's pulled and Jason screams as he shatters into a million pieces. His body is consumed by his pleasure. He feels it as Tim draws on him until he's empty, sucks until he's certain his balls aren't going to have anything to release for weeks.

He falls back to the bed from where he's been straining, gasping for air as he comes back together. 

All the pieces fall back into place and Jason feels like he can see them each for their individuality; he feels like he can reach out and touch them if only he tried a little harder to make it happen.

For an instant, he's sure he can hear everything in this entire apartment building, certain the city outside is _his_ , and then the world settles back into focus and he's left the scared boy at Joker's mercy all those years ago.

Tim's weight settles across his lap, his thighs encasing him in gentle warmth. His wrist comes loose from the headboard and Tim rubs it down with the greatest care in the world. Jason feels the seams around the pieces of himself sealing up. 

By the time he's got his arms around Tim's waist and Tim has freed him from the thigh restraints, Jason's coming back to him, coming back to a reality where he's safer than he's ever been. He picks up and throws Joker's faulty memory from his mind. It shatters as it hits the transparent walls of his cage and he turns his head to inhale Tim's scent until his lungs are full to bursting.

The mask leaves him last and when Tim tilts his head up and takes a chaste little kiss, Jason feels that overwhelming sensation of affection that he's come to fragilely acknowledge as love. It chokes him up for a second and then it purifies him until he's made of glass. When Tim doesn't let him shatter on the floor, he finds the will to become iron again and he tucks his smile against Tim's neck, content in their silence. 

There's no need for words here, there never has been. Not when Tim's in his place and not now that he's let Tim take his.

There's an understanding in the silence and there's a confession in it just the same. This is the one and only place they'll ever banish their demons and the fact that they can do it together is a benefit that neither of them will ever ignore. 

There's a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart. It's unyielding, ever burning, and for the first time in his life, Jason doesn't feel like this is a trap. He feels like it's freedom.


End file.
